Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 2

intriguing, and today he carried his infant son in his arms. The child's warrior mother was with her squadron for several days yet, leaving the babe with the contracted father. It was fitting that the son would witness the birth of his heritage. The officer was near royalty himself, and the first in his family to choose a career on the battlefield. In due time, he'd be one of the King's finest generals.
    For now, he was a newly commissioned lieutenant receiving the unique gift his king had bestowed upon him: living steel from the forge of a metal mage.
    Sai focused on the deep red of the fire, occasionally glancing at the man who sat watching him. Sai hadn't unveiled the weapons; the metal hadn't yet whispered its readiness. He busied himself forming the blank that would eventually form a sabre that he would wield himself. In all his life, in all the thousands of swords, knives and rapiers he'd forged, Sai had never felt the urge to create one for himself.
    When he met Arick Weste, the urge had hit him hard.
    He cursed the weakness of his flesh and heart. He cursed the man who roused him, charmed him and channeled the fire that burned inside. Since the day Arick first walked into his smithy, Sai made a point to kneel daily at the altar beside his door, giving thanks to the hard-hearted god of the forge and his tender-hearted wife, because Sai had fallen in love, and it came as a revelation. Thoughts of the handsome young officer occupied his mind, bringing brilliance and life to his work, whether he labored over the forge or sweated on the field, training King Conrad's newest recruits. Since Arick entered his life, Sai's much vaunted skills had surpassed those of all other masters, raising his work to fine art.
    He pulled the blank sword from the sullen red coals and moved it to the anvil where he hammered it, carefully coaxing shape from the metal. It had been tempered; heated and cooled, folded and hammered until Sai felt the heart of the sword throbbing beneath his calloused hands. He worked it until the curve was perfect, finally plunging it into the cooling vat, watching as the waters boiled and frothed around the blade.
    The amber-colored water went still once the sword was removed, and he gently wiped it down, hanging it on a rack with dozens of other semi-finished blades. No one knew how special it was. His own blood sang within that sabre, pulsing with the beat of his heart. Every ounce of magic he possessed went into its creation; every bit of his prodigious talent helped shape and balance what would someday be the highest example of Sai's art. It would be a thing of beauty, a reflection of his soul.
    He returned to his workbench, hiding a smile as Arick straightened in anxious expectation. The babe in his arms squirmed a bit, settling once it had wedged a knuckle into its tiny mouth. Sai nodded and Arick rose, handing the child off to a servant at his side.
    "Don't take him away," Sai ordered. "Someday these blades will be his." Arick smiled at Sai, and he had to wonder if the lieutenant's heart beat in time with his. They'd never spoken of this thing between them, this wild, gut deep connection. In the hours they'd spent together, they'd never touched or made love. But they were now so deeply connected that a glance spoke volumes, a tilt of the head told a story.
    The servant nodded and sat on a low wall, joining the others watching the show. The infant fussed, wanting the arms of his father. After a few moments, he went silent, as though sensing the solemn nature of the moment.
    Sai slowly pulled the coarse wrapping from the weapons, slowly revealing them to the gaze of the man he'd created them for. When he did custom work like this, Sai took only basic measurements; he then let his magic guide the creation of the weapon. In this case, Arick had requested twin swords as he fought with both hands. Beyond that, Sai's clients always trusted in his skill. If they didn't, there were other sword-makers in the kingdom.
    As the weapons came into view, Arick's blue eyes went wide in shock. A moment later a hush ran through the crowd. Arick lifted the twin scimitars, holding them so all could see. But he wasn't showing them off; Arick was examining them.
    In the sunlight, the blades gleamed with brilliance that would blind his opponent. They were curved for slashing, yet were light enough for more elaborate swordplay. Fine etching ornamented the blade; spells of safety and victory were carved in elaborate script.